


let beauty come out of ashes

by LavworthMyWay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22259644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavworthMyWay/pseuds/LavworthMyWay
Summary: Twice had Geralt hurt Jaskier - the first on his life. The second on his heart. He didn't lose Jaskier to death the first time, but he had lost Jaskier to his anger the second.But people linked by destiny will always find each other.Perhaps Geralt would be granted a second try after all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 763





	let beauty come out of ashes

Over the past hour, Jaskier had been thoughtfully experimenting with another song, strumming on his lute with artful purpose. Staring intensely into the campfire like he could decipher sublime poetics in its arcanic flames.

He had just witnessed Geralt slay an archgriffin. A beast that got a bit too close than Geralt would have liked. But it had been Jaskier who had treaded too close to the battle because he wanted to, in his words, “How else would I get inspiration from the adrenaline-fuelled brilliance of a heroic battle?”

If Geralt didn't detect the whiff of cold fear when the creature was inches from clawing Jaskier’s face off, he would have suspected the bard was the one who was, _in his words_ , “short of a marble”.

Still, it was not the main reason Geralt could not keep his eyes and ears off him.

Not so long ago had the balladeer almost lost his voice. To a djinn fulfilling a careless wish made by Geralt himself, no less.

The leaden weight in his chest had yet to be lifted.

Every time he heard Jaskier sing or speak, every time his ariose voice pour out of his mouth, Geralt’s heart clenched in agony like he had never felt before, but also strangely burst in immense relief.

To his surprise, he had grown to find fondness in Jaskier's voice. In Jaskier himself. If he had lost him—his voice (just his voice, Geralt insisted) forever because of his reckless actions, Geralt wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself.

“Have you any requests, my dear witcher?”

Jaskier threw him an easy grin, pulling him out of his train of thought.

Geralt frowned. Jaskier rarely asked such a question, often preferring to strum up whatever struck his fancy. “No. Why?”

Jaskier arched a brow, as if it was Geralt who was acting out of character.

“You've been looking at me all day. And all of yesterday as well. And the day before. Can’t keep your eyes off me, eh? If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you to share the same lascivious intentions with a blushing maiden.”

Geralt grunted, grimacing at the comparison. As if he would be taken to the lark like that.

“Thought so.” Jaskier quipped lightly, but the smile didn't seem to reach his eyes. “So lay out your troubles on me! It is my job, after all, to slay the monsters of the heart, mind and soul.”

Geralt let out a sigh so low it came out as a contemplative rumble. Jaskier anticipated his reply in patience.

With all the vivacity he embodied, Jaskier harboured a considerate side to him in the most unexpected of moments. Though not always tactful, he was deceivingly perceptive. Geralt supposed being a performer for a live, often whimsical, audience would fine-tune his social awareness somewhat.

“The djinn. Your throat.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “My throat is doing fine? Unless...”

His eyes widened as he let out a horrified gasp. “Unless, you think that the djinn still has its sinister clutches on me?!”

“No.” Geralt cut in before Jaskier could spiral into a bout of panic.

Exhaling deeply, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. “You got attacked because I wished for some peace.”

_You were hurt because of me._

Jaskier deflated, his expression softening into something sincere Geralt hardly saw him wear.

“Neither of us knew you were the djinn’s master. That it would follow your command like that. And—ah, let me finish, I see that stubborn pout on your face. _And_ , you were sleep-deprived, thus lacking any filter to your already limited words. I don’t blame you for what happened, Geralt. I never did. Although I do blame you for letting me cross paths with that sorceress. I can no longer sleep soundly knowing that someone on that level of madness exists on the very same earth as me.”

“She saved your life.” And Geralt couldn’t be more thankful of that.

“The only upside I can find, so far. Maybe the beauty as well. Perhaps even her power, but that’s a double-edged sword in itself.”

Unconvinced, Geralt turned to look at the kindling flames.

“Geralt, look at me.”

And he did.

Jaskier peered right at him, uncharacteristically solemn.

“You might have made that wish, but you had also saved my life. Saved my arse on other occasions more times than I can count. What I’m getting at is that I have never, and will never, hold it against you.”

He held Geralt’s gaze, making sure that he got his point across. The bard was incredibly headstrong when he wanted to be.

Geralt grunted as a begrudging acceptance of his words.

Something fond flickered in Jaskier’s eyes. But then he blinked, and the usual spark flooded back into them.

“Well then, now that we’ve got that out of the way, shall I lift our spirits with another song? I just thought of rather colourful phrases of the drowner we fought just the other day.”

It was a thinly veiled attempt to redirect their conversation back to familiar grounds. Geralt appreciated that.

Nimble fingers plucking at the strings, he began to fill the air with his silvery singing, enchanting it with a cottony comfort.

Geralt closed his eyes, and let the warmth wash over him.

* * *

They said that absence made the heart grow fonder. But they forgot to mention that it also made the ache grow stronger.

Geralt didn’t realise how much solace he had found in the bard’s presence until it had left a gaping hole in its wake.

Geralt had many sleepless nights. It was nothing new. Such was the life of a witcher.

But tonight’s insomnia could only be accredited to his utter foolishness.

It was a moment of anger. But a moment was all it took. A split second in a vulnerable haze of hurt and hopelessness. Despair was all that but engulfed his mind, and he took the first opportunity to dispel it.

The mistake was that he lashed out at the last person he wanted to push away. The last person he thought he would be able to push away.

The tremble in Jaskier’s voice, barely held together by a threadbare string of dignity. Geralt had stupidly disregarded the falter, still trapped in his hurricane of agony, ignorant of the havoc he had wrecked. He had thought that Jaskier would wait at the campsite for him, like he always would. Had taken that patience for granted.

So when he treaded down the mountain path only to find the absence of the bard, cold dread finally began to seep into his chest. Clutching onto troubled hope, he continued his descent to the foot of the mountain, expecting Jaskier finding companionship with Roach while waiting for him. But he wasn’t.

Geralt trudged into the tavern, thinking that Jaskier _had_ to be here. Singing about impossibly valiant battles with dragons and braving fires and foes.

But he wasn’t.

At last did it truly sink in – Jaskier was not coming back to him.

It wasn’t the monsters that scared him away. It was Geralt himself.

Perhaps the greatest monster of them all was him after all.

To think that the afternoon before, Jaskier had sat down next to him and conversed with him with intimate ease. Gazing wistfully into the horizon as his voice took on a hopeful, if slightly timid, lilt. Making ambiguous plans to the coast, with Geralt in mind.

_“—just trying to work out what pleases me.”_

Geralt shut his eyes. Blocking out the torrent of anguish and regret.

He was given an alternate path. A path of serenity and contentment. A path where he could bask in Jaskier’s bright laughs and jovial tunes and gentle gazes.

A path he had brushed off, and then crushed into nothingness with his cruel, bare fists.

If only he could turn back time. He would take it all back. He would treasure all the undeserving compassion Jaskier had freely offered.

But he had made all his wishes, and so could only fruitlessly rue his unforgivable words.

Geralt might have brought him back to life, but he could not bring him back into his life.

* * *

Everywhere he went, he was painfully reminded of what he had lost. Of whom he had lost.

On occasion a minstrel at a tavern would break into a song, and out poured a melody that Geralt would recognise in his sleep.

_“The fairer sex, they often call it—”_

Desperate eyes snapped up and for a split second he saw a tuft of brown and pair of gentle blues, only for the illusion to fade into unfamiliar features.

Jaskier’s songs had spread far and wide across the lands, filling many taverns and halls with his memorable melodies and catchy lyrics. Many troubadours would take up his songs. But they all paled in comparison to the original performer himself. They lacked in richness in their emotions that only he could possess. No bard could ever hope to match his brilliance. Geralt would listen to their performance and only dishearteningly find a shadow of the blazing light that was Jaskier.

This gnawing discontent festered in him like a plague. Cursed to be fed a sliver of perfection but never be able to have his hands on it.

If it was Destiny’s cruel revelry to dangle before his face the imagines of what could have been, of what he had irreversibly done, she was doing a fine fucking job.

In his own resentful defiance, Geralt prolonged his journey to go to his Child Surprise. If she denied him his wishes, his _yearnings_ , then he was going to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Geralt had resigned to the hopeless fact that he would never have the bard – _his_ bard – by his side anymore. Not in this lifetime, nor the next.

But Destiny was as cruel as she was kind. Those blessed with her love were burdened with the worst of sufferings. A mercurial enigma, if anything. However, if there was one consistent thing about her, was that people linked by destiny would always find each other.

Geralt had wandered into Cidaris in his detour. He was running low on food for himself and Roach, so when he ventured into a small town, he leaned into the door of the first tavern he laid his eyes on—

—only to be greeted with a voice that had been haunting him in his dreams.

Geralt would have suspected he was hallucinating. But the scent of rich wood and spring flowers that wafted at him with familial comfort made it unmistakeable that this was real.

That _he_ was here.

Geralt immediately searched for his bard ( _no longer his_ , Geralt bitterly reminded himself) among the sea of people. Sharp eyes flitted across picayune faces before landing on _him_.

Jaskier looked even more radiant than the day Geralt lost him. Cradling his life in a tender embrace, he sang a merry jig with a smile that illuminated the entire tavern.

At once, the tension bled out of him, soaking in the glow that was Jaskier's voice and sunny presence.

It was then Jaskier looked up and locked eyes with Geralt. His world slow to a standstill. His surroundings fade into inconsequential nothingness and the only source of light emanated from Jaskier himself.

The performative charm on Jaskier's expression cracked, giving way into naked shock that matched Geralt’s own. The hand on the lute strings stilled for a few seconds. But then they returned with renewed vigour, strumming up a tune of bittersweet heartbreak.

_You have broken my heart and torn me apart._

It was too much.

Geralt spun on his heels and stormed out of the tavern.

His mind had already routed his path to the nearest town by the time he reached Roach. He couldn't stay here. Jaskier was still upset at him, and being in the wrong Geralt was obliged to back down and leave him be.

Geralt was so adamant on the fact that he would never be able to see Jaskier again, that when it turned out otherwise, his first instinct was to run away. Despite desiring a do-over, despite running words of apology in his head over and again, despite yearning for him like a delirious man dying, he could not bring it to himself to go to him.

Because Jaskier could and would do better without Geralt in his life, and Geralt would rather ensure Jaskier's happiness than selfishly pursue his own. He would not hurt Jaskier again, and he would run his sword through himself before he could even attempt to.

But then, he picked up the sound of wary approaching footsteps, the scent of wood and flowers, and his heart twisted with acquiescent trepidation.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier whispered his name with a gentle awe that had Geralt melting with a longing ache.

Geralt exhaled through his nose and turned to face him.

“Jaskier.”

The bard offered a genial smile, but his eyes shone with reluctant apprehension.

“That was quite rude of you, if I may say so myself. Bolting right out of the tavern the instance you saw me.”

Geralt didn’t know how to reply, for there was hardly anything false about it that he could rebut.

Jaskier peered at him, clever eyes searching his face for _something_. “Did you just arrive here?”

He nodded. “I’ll be heading to the nearest town.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You just arrived. Roach looks like she just settled down nicely.”

Jaskier glanced at the horse and gave her fond smile that softened his features with a beauteous glow. The kind of tenderness that Geralt yearned to receive but knew better than to even hope for.

“Stay for tonight, at least. You look exhausted and famished. It’s on me. I owe you at least that much, having made a bit of a name for myself thanks to you.”

Geralt could not say no. Jaskier could tell him to walk off a cliff and he would do it without a moment of hesitation.

However.

“You don’t owe me anything, Jaskier. Your success comes from your own effort and skills.”

Geralt was in no way ascribed to a sliver of Jaskier’s fame. He was unworthy of something like that.

Jaskier cracked a smile, one that finally reached his eyes. “Nonsense! You were my muse. An artist would be nothing without their inspiration. Just a meal, and you’ll never see me again. How’s that sound?”

Geralt frowned. He didn’t understand why Jaskier would phrase it like that. It should be the other way around, with Geralt getting out of Jaskier’s way instead. It should be him getting all apologetic and making atonements.

But he didn’t know how to articulate all of that, so he just said, as genuine as he could, “Do as you please.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, gleaming with something Geralt must had mistaken for hope.

“Oh, I, alright then! Come on now, better not keep your dinner waiting.”

Geralt followed him back into the tavern. The patrons quietened to a hush when they re-entered, having finally noticed the presence of the infamous witcher. Thankfully, they made no protest or complaint, wordlessly permitting Geralt’s existence as Jaskier led him to a table at the corner. Just the way Geralt preferred.

As they settled down and Jaskier requested to the tavern maid for two plates of food, Geralt dreaded on how to approach their precarious relationship. There was glaring issue that wedged between them, and Geralt didn’t know how to address it.

But Jaskier seemed to be the more self-assured one between them two. He filled their conversations with his chatter about his life up till now – journeying around Redania, Temeria and finally here at Cidaris, performing at places from the shoddiest of taverns to the most extravagant of banquets. His name and songs travelled across the lands, and now more often than not had he been receiving praises and even invitations to showcase his ballads.

Hearing how well Jaskier had been doing filled Geralt with reassuring relief. It soothed his worries knowing that Jaskier got by fine on his own and managed to live comfortably doing what he loved. If Geralt could not attain happiness in his life, then at least Jaskier should be able to have it in his own.

“I’m happy for you, Jaskier. Truly.” As he said that, Geralt found himself smiling.

Jaskier paused in his movement. He regarded him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips – an expression of astonishment. Gaze flickering down for a moment, he put his spoon onto his plate and left it there.

“What about you, Geralt? Are you happy at wherever you are now?”

Geralt looked down, mulling the question in his head despite knowing what the answer was.

“I haven’t been for a while.” Not since the day Jaskier had walked away and made him realise he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

But Geralt had already resigned himself to that fate.

Sympathy flickered in Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt turned away. He didn’t need his pity, nor did he deserve his sympathy. He had brought it upon himself, there was no denying of that.

Jaskier raised his hand, but then lowered it back onto the table.

“Why don’t we go up to my room? It’s a lot warmer up there.”

Geralt gave a stiff nod, and Jaskier pushed himself off the table.

Despite being an inn room, the bard’s presence had made it undeniably his. His lute case rested neatly up against the wall. The scent of lute polish lingered in the air. A red doublet hung over the chair, its striking similarity to the one Geralt last saw him in was but a painful reminder of what had not yet resolved.

The door clicked shut, isolating them both from the rest of the world.

It was now or never, Geralt thought to himself in grim resolution.

“Jaskier, I--” Jaskier turned to look at him, curious. Geralt closed his mouth, pressing it to a thin, terse line. “What I said back then, on the mountains.”

Jaskier stilled. He stared rigidly at Geralt. Eyes dark with disquiet.

“Geralt, don’t—”

“Please.” Geralt interrupted, insistent.

Jaskier relented, jaw clenching shut.

Geralt swallowed, finding his throat dry and courage absent. But he willed himself through. It was the least his former companion – his former _friend_ – deserved.

“I was angry, and said things I didn’t mean. Things I wish I could take back. I know that I cannot undo what I have done. I know that I have hurt you. But, I hope you can accept my apology.

“Jaskier,” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

A shaky exhale escaped Jaskier. There was slight quiver in his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut.

The air was heavy with silence, choking Geralt with merciless intent.

When Jaskier opened his eyes, they gleamed with unshed tears. Panic overcame Geralt momentarily before the other man began to speak. His voice was thick with restrained emotions, and every word that came out was a brutal stab into Geralt’s heart.

“I was downright devastated when you said those things to me. An utter mess. I didn’t want you to see me in a pathetic state, so I left before you could find me. The bitterness fuelled me for a while. Does wonders for a tearjerker or two.

“But after pouring it all out onto my songs, I was...hollowed out. I gained adoring fans, had coin to my name. But it hardly meant much. It didn’t mean anything if you weren’t there to share this moment with.”

Geralt could only stare at him. Somehow, that confession had rekindled his determination and compelled him to speak.

“Jaskier, I kept going through the ways it could have gone, had I not taken my anger out on you. How different our lives would have been. I cannot stop thinking about what you said before. About going to the coast. How it would have turned out, had I taken that offer.”

Jaskier made a wrangled noise at the back of his throat, like he was holding back sob.

“ _Fuck_ , Geralt. You can’t just saunter back into my life after so long and say something like that.”

Geralt pursed his lips, sombrely considering his next words, lest he made a wrong move and broke the man once again.

“I do not ask for your forgiveness, nor do I believe I deserve it. I just wanted to say what I should have said a long time ago.”

Jaskier fell back into silence for a moment.

“Back then, I would have followed you to the ends of the world without a second thought. Gods, I still want to. But now there's more in my life now, and I can't just walk away from it all.”

“Then don't.” Geralt said. “I can be the one to follow you this time, if you will allow it.”

Jaskier gaped at him in open-mouthed shock.

“Is that what you want?” He asked numbly, no louder than a murmur.

“I want what you want.”

Jaskier laughed weakly, but the spark was back in his eyes. It renewed a meek sense of hope in Geralt.

“Even if that includes spending entire nights in rowdy taverns and noisy dining halls?”

“Yes.” Because Jaskier would be in the centre of it all. And that made everything and anything worth the while.

“Even if you’ll have to hear my singing and incessant chatter day and night again?”

“Yes.” Geralt would have given anything to have him by his side again. Had even promised that to Yennefer all those years ago, during the djinn attack.

“Even if you most probably will have to save my arse from monsters and men alike?”

 _“Yes.”_ Protecting Jaskier was and would never a burden to him.

There were so much Geralt wanted to tell him but couldn’t. So, he looked right into Jaskier’s eyes, hoping he could convey all that he was feeling.

Jaskier held his gaze, steady and searching. Fearing this would be the last time he was allowed to stand so close to him, Geralt memorised every hue in those gentle blues, every strand of soft brown curls, the curve of his nose and the bow of his lips. If this were to be the last time Jaskier wanted to see him, then Geralt had better burn this image of him into his head for the rest of his dreary life.

“…Alright.”

Geralt blinked.

Jaskier chuckled, noticing his confusion. “I said alright. You can come with me. I’m heading west to Bremervoord. If you also happen to be heading that direction, you’re welcome to join me.”

Geralt’s heart beat four times slower than an average human, but he was certain the moment those words left Jaskier’s lips, his heart had come to a complete stop.

“I am.” He finally uttered.

“Good.” A small smile. “If my memory hasn’t failed me, Bremervoord also happens to be right by the coast.”

Geralt snapped his gaze at him. An olive branch. Despite everything, Jaskier still held onto that wish. Held onto it like Geralt had.

“I’ve been wanting to go to the coast.” _With you._

Jaskier seemed to sense his unspoken words, for his smile stretched into a soft grin.

“Well, good thing our interests finally align, I suppose.”

* * *

Things did not immediately smoothen about between them, naturally. For the first few days, they continued to engage in a cautious dance to find their new middle-ground. But eventually, they managed to find a rhythm and fall into it.

They both noticed a slight shift in dynamics. Jaskier was the one leading the way, and Geralt being the one to keep his eyes on him more often than the other way around. The balladeer still dominated most of their conversations, but Geralt found himself initiating them so that he could listen to him speak at length.

Geralt put his personal promises into action. He cherished every waking moment with the other man, giving him his undivided attention whenever he could. He did not plan to let go of him anytime soon, not until Jaskier decided that he had enough of him.

But Jaskier never tire of his company. He continued to find merriment in their lives, and though there was now an almost indiscernible air of wisdom about him that came with the heartbreak, he kept giving Geralt all the kindness he could offer.

Neither had mentioned anything about those changes. It was their new normal, and that was that.

But soon, their dynamics were to shift once again, in a way neither would have foreseen.

Geralt’s medallion hummed in ominous premonition soon after they had set camp. The day of travelling had drained him of energy, but Geralt got up anyway to locate the monster. Out of habit rather than seeking artistic inspiration, Jaskier gathered up to accompany him. But Geralt told him otherwise.

“It’s better if you set up a fire here. I’ll hunt us some meat after I deal with the monster.”

“Alright. Be safe, Geralt.”

Geralt grunted, his heart warming at Jaskier’s concern. Then he headed off.

It turned out to be an arachcas. Bastard made it a tricky fight, with its lethal poison.

He was bleeding in several parts of his body, but he still had one more task before he could return. Hunting deer was far easier than slaying monster, although given his weary roughened state it took him longer than it needed to be.

It was a fortunate thing that he had Jaskier set up the campfire, or he would have an arduous time finding his way back.

Jaskier looked up from stoking the fire, and did a double take at the man stumbling his way.

“Geralt! What happened?”

“Arachcas.” He muttered and tossed the animal to the ground before collapsing next to Jaskier.

Jaskier scoffed, but his hands were frantic as he rummaged for salves and bandages.

“Is that all it takes to thrash the almighty White Wolf now? Your age must have finally caught up to you.”

Geralt hummed, smirking despite himself. “I’d like to see you try and face up the beast yourself.”

“I’m a man of many talents, but even I come short in the general area of fighting expertise. Although I’m quite confident I can best a siren.”

Geralt scowled, overcome by a surge of protectiveness. “Don’t do that.”

“Watch me.” Jaskier levelled him with a challenging glare, but a second passed and he began to laugh.

“Can you imagine?” He mused light-heartedly, as he patched the other man up. “A beautiful siren going up against an even more beautiful bard? That would make such a riveting song.”

“And in reality, it would be me killing the siren.”

“Ballads are rarely truthful, you should know that by now.”

Geralt let out an amused huff.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Jaskier cleaned his wounds and covered them in salves before pressing bandages over them. Like everything else about Jaskier, there was a distinct rhythm to his actions. It lulled Geralt into a sense of tranquil security.

“I missed this.”

Jaskier scorned sarcastically. “Missed what? Getting maimed and having a flirtatious frisk with death?”

Geralt didn’t reply right away, wondering how he should best phrase his thoughts. Thoughts that had previously kept up him at night. That used to invade his mind whenever loneliness ebbed at him.

“Missed coming back to you after every fight.”

The hands on Geralt’s arm froze. Startled blue eyes flickered up to meet steady gold ones.

For once, Jaskier was rendered speechless. Geralt absentmindedly decided he quite liked that.

“Geralt, are you…?”

He decided he liked the unabashed astonishment and _hope_ on his expression even more. Geralt let out a gravelly hum in affirmative response.

When no words came out of the other man, understanding resignation began to set in.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t wish for it to—”

Jaskier broke into a wide grin. The laugh that escaped him was weak with surprised joy.

“You beautiful buffoon. I was yours the moment I chose to follow you in Posada.”

With careful slowness, his hands reached out to tenderly cradle his face. Geralt’s eyes shut on instinct, his body revelling in the sensation of being touched with such caring fondness.

“Jaskier.” He breathed out.

“Geralt.” Came the reply. Soft, intimate, like a personal prayer.

He felt Jaskier lean in closer. His scent was all he could smell.

“You—marvellous, astounding idiot. And I’m an idiot for letting my heart be captivated by you.”

“That makes the both of us.”

Geralt opened his eyes. Jaskier was inches away from him.

The glow from the fire danced off his face. The shadow of his eyelashes traced the smooth curves of his cheeks to the soft arch of his lips.

“I wish to kiss you, Geralt.”

A nod. And Jaskier closed the distance between them.

* * *

The vibrant blue of the sea was rather breath-taking up close, but Geralt was certain that it was outmatched by the lighter hue in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Colder than I thought.”

Jaskier looked down at his bare feet as clear waters rolled over them and up the sand. A thoughtful pout jutted out of his mouth.

“It’s still spring.”

“I know, but sun’s out. I was hoping it would help. Anyway, come have a feel of it yourself.”

“No.”

“You’re missing out an awful lot, Geralt. The cool crisp sensation of seawater, its snow-white foam curling at your ankles. Soft sand pillowing your feet. I bet you can’t get that anywhere else.”

Geralt made a non-committal hum. Jaskier grinned at his reluctant response.

“I see now. You’re afraid to get your feet wet.”

“I’m not.”

A chuckle. “Yes, you are! Is that your greatest fear, o’ great Geralt of Rivia? Some chilly water soaking into your feet?”

Geralt shot a half-hearted glare at him. He got another bright chortle in return.

“Alright, alright. I shan’t torment you any longer.”

Jaskier strode over to him, leaving light imprints on the sand. He came to a stop when their chests were a hair’s breadth from each other. Looking up at him, he gave Geralt a radiant beam that rivalled the sun above them.

Geralt supposed Jaskier was his sun, in a way. The light in his darkness. The warmth in his coldness. The centre of his world.

“A coin for your thoughts, witcher?” Jaskier probed cheekily.

Geralt smiled. “Just you.” And leaned down.

There were few things in life Geralt was grateful for. And there were fewer instances where he was grateful for Destiny. But once in a while, those two would intercept, and Geralt would find himself in disbelieving awe of what he had been graced with.

He might trudge along a weary path of bones and ashes, but with the man he could finally call his walk by his side, perhaps he could finally see the beauty in it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Having finally submitted my essay, I can dedicate to writing another story of two hopeless idiots. A bit more self-indulgent than the previous one, I'd say.
> 
> Initially I was going to title this 'Evermore', after the homonymous song from Beauty and the Beast. Because damn, the yearning in that song is Unparalleled. But we're going for the Deadpool angst because I think Celine Dion and Jaskier should hang out.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who had enjoyed my previous fic. Your incredible support really motivated me to write another. so thank you again! I hope you've enjoyed this one as well!


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